Rise of the Crimson Centurion - a MHA Story
by OccupationalVagrancy
Summary: The main character, Robert, doesn't fully understand the world around him, but tries to live in it anyway. As a child, he begins to learn to understand his quirk, but soon becomes afraid to use it.
1. C1 - Villains

C1-Villains

North-East Ohio. 2006.

I hop off from the schoolbus. As the post-dawn sun looms in the distance, and I feel the impact of the cold concrete sidewalk as my velcro-sneakers make contact. The first step to the mammoth vehicle's entrance still comes up to my waist, and driving this vehicle is an obnoxious, bitter woman.

I take one more whiff of the glue-reminiscent exhaust fumes as I begin my soujourn to my home room. Along the way, I see some kids in a circle facing inwards. I rubberneck for a half second to make out the partial outline of another child. From what I'm able to see, this kid doesn't appear to be hurt, and so I keep walking.

I cross through the eastern entrance and begin swiftly walking to my first period; weather. I never understood why we had so many varied classes among the core of Math, Language Arts, Social Studies, and Science. Least of all: Weather.

I round the bend and breach the secondary hallway where my classes are and quickly make my way to the locker in which I'm told to stash my backpack. It never made sense, we had to carry our books and binders from class to class anyway, so why weren't we allowed to use our backpacks?

Moving on, I join the rest of my homeroom and acquire my assigned seat. The teacher isn't in yet, and so my classmates are mainly scattered across the room. Some of them are playing with their quirks. One boy is folding paper without touching it, another girl is impressing her friends by drawing flowers in the air.

The teacher slides in on her cloud. It was always entertaining to me that Ms. Connolly had the ability to create and ride on small clouds and happened to choose teaching weather as a career.

Class begins as usual, she's droning on about air currents and lake-effect snow, and I'm within an inch of passing out. I hadn't slept well during the previous night. While I attempt to prop my chin on a water bottle, I hear a thunderclap.

"Robert! Obviously, you're one of those gifted children who can pay attention without looking at the person who's talking, aren't you?" she remarks for the class. However, still lost in my stupor I say with full confidence "Yes, Ma'am!"

Not expecting that answer, Ms. Connolly pauses for an instant and resumes the lesson.

The day progresses:

Weather

Math

Science

the Special Needs Class

Lunch

Social Studies

Recess

Language Arts

Botany

Gym

and we return to our homerooms to wait for our buses.

On my way out, I notice those kids again. They're walking together, almost in a formation. The leader was Ronnie, he's skinny and athletic. Lacrosse, I think. He was always so proud of his quirk; he could run around faster than anyone, although it was almost like a skip. His legs were able to fold out into something shaped like something between a piston and a rabbit's legs.

Whether in the hall or gym class, he'd be bounding around, and he'd throw that at anyone he could. Back and to his left was Chuck. Fittingly, Chuck, a stout blond boy, could throw any object he could pick up to over a quarter of a kilometer away. This was because of his oversized, gorilla-like arms. Finally, beside him was Michael, a real beanpole. His quirk was perhaps the least practical, but by far the most annoying.

He jaw was square but rounded at the corners like an old-fashioned radio microphone. He could repeat back any one thing that someone said perfectly, as long as he remembered it clearly.

These three were always going on and on about their quirks and admonishing anyone who had one that they considered inferior, or worse, anyone who was quirkless. Chuck would grab a person's bag, books, or even their lunch and always throw it perfectly towards Ronnie. Ronnie, an inconvenient distance away, would frolic around their current victim and persistently hold their goods just within reach but pull them away at the last instant.

Meanwhile, Michael would incessently repeat back the poor soul's pleas. "Stop that please, stop that please, stop that please." Finally, if the victim tried to strike him, the other two would trip them and toss their item in the trash or some distance away.

The worst part of this was: they would either get away with it or get a slap on the wrist in the few times they were consensus around the administration and the teachers was always something like "Boys Will Be Boys."

Unfortunately, today was my turn.

"Hey Jerkus! How's that quirk of yours?" Ronnie shouted as he'd finished his approach. "Hey Jerkus! Hey Jerkus! Hey Jerkus!" Repeated Michael. As I was distracted by the other two, I didn't notice Chuck sneak from behind me. Suddenly, my arms were wrenched backwards by the straps of my pack and I began to fall. Quickly, I caught myself and spun around as this was not the first time this had happened to me.

However, before I could snatch back my bag, Chuck had already pulled back his arm. "Hey Ronnie, go long!" He yelled as he absolutely hurled my backpack down the hall. Quickly, Ronnie raced passed it down the corridor, and with his best impression of a professional goalie, grabbed it out of the air with both of his hands.

"So how does it feel to not have a quirk?! "Chortled Michael."

"I do have a quirk!" I stated. "I took the test, I don't have the joint. Please let me go home" I pleaded.

"I do have a quirk, I do have a quirk!" repeated Michael.

As Michael mocked me, I held my ground and waited for Ronnie to return with my bag. I'd hoped that if I didn't try to reach for it long enough, they would get bored and leave to catch their bus.

Unfortunately, today they must've had a ride coming. We stood there for what seemed like ten minutes, or at least that's what the frequently inaccurate hall clock dictated. Realizing then that I would have to book it to catch my bus home, I finally stated "Ronnie, I need to get going, would ya please give me my backpack back?"

With a sneer, Ronnie put on a heavily sarcastic tone and said "Fine, Chuck, could you give the guy his bag?" With that, Ronnie handed my backpack to Chuck, who, as I reached for it, absolutely launched it toward the far end of the hall. *CLACK* uttered my books as the bag impacted on the door at the far end.

With a snarl of frustration, I began charging toward the doors to retrieve my backpack as my aggressors started in the other direction. "Later, Quirkless-loser!" Yelled Michael as he turned a corner behind me.

Putting in the hardest dash that I could muster, I managed to make it to my bag. I tried to grab it and kick off back in the direction I'd come, but I whiffed at that key instant and killed my momentum. In the process, I lost my footing and *PLAKK* fell painfully onto the tiled floor. I scrambled to get up and grab my bag. Once I was back on my feet, I started an athletic sprint toward the school's main foyer.

With the efficacy of a battering ram, I crashed into the bar that opened the door and broke out into the sunlight... Just as I saw my bus turning the corner onto the road at the far end of the parking lot.

"DARNIT!" I cried. Stomping my feet and kicking at the dust of the concrete curb. I resigned myself to my fate, and began walking home.


	2. C2 - Activate

The shadows began to lengthen as I trekked home. My house was a significant distance away from the school. I didn't own a cellphone yet, and having suffered such a defeat I was too conscious of myself to even consider re-entering the school in order to use an office phone.

No, my path was set, and I felt like writhing in my shame. I trudged onward up the main street out of the town proper, and I weaved in and around yards in the rich neighborhood along the way. At one point, I even became lost and found a swimming pool which I'd never even known was there. I walked on along the most perilous of roads, and after an hour out there,

Finally, I managed to return home. As I approached, I saw my mother pacing back and forth in the front lawn. As soon as she saw me, she made a proper B-line with almost no hesitation. For a stout librarian, she was really moving.

"Where have you been? I nearly called the police!" she exclaimed.

"I missed my bus, I'm sorry" I stated disheartedly.

"Well why didn't you call from the office?"

"I just wanted to come home, I didn't think about anything else."

"Did something happen?"

"No, I just missed the bus."

"...Next time this happens, you'd better call, otherwise there'll be BIG trouble." She relented.

With that, she reached out, and before I could dodge dodge away, took me into a firm embrace. "Okay, come on and help me make dinner."

Over the next hour I helped to assemble salads and spaghetti. No one at home really knew how to cook well, and so we often defaulted on something simple but satisfactory.

Afterward, I began digging through my mound of small assignments for the night. I had homework in almost every topic, but I managed to finish it by nearly 8, and proceeded to one of my favorite things: watching hero videos! I'd go to my dad's home office where the computer was and get right down to it.

All over the world, heroes were using their quirks for good and fighting the bad guys. I didn't even have all that much of a grasp of geography at the time. In fact, I probably knew more heroes than I knew countries!

Some of my favorites were DeeJay, who could make sound waves visible and use them as weapons or shields, and Carnival, with his ability to make super strong strings shoot out of any ninety-degree angle.

Of course, I'd heard of All Might from Japan. Although, despite being lauded as the world's symbol of peace and the number one hero, I thought that super strength was actually kind of boring. For a while, Endeavor was my favorite. He seemed even stronger, and I always thought that his flames looked super cool.

I'd watch these heroes save the day every day, and I had always had the thought in the back of my still-forming mind that "Maybe I could do that."

Finally, my dad would pop in and say "Enough's enough, time for bed." With that, I'd comply, however reluctantly.

Early the next morning, the first thing I heard was "Time to GET UP!" as my father would burst into the room and proceeded to turn on every light he could find, set the fan to maximum, rip off my comforter, and leave in what seemed like mischevious glee with the door fully ajar. This was how he made it difficult to fall back to sleep.

After laying there for minutes in painless agony, I began to shift my weight from side to side. with enough momentum, I rolled myself, lethargy and all, off of the bed and into the gap between it and the wall. *WUMFP* my body uttered as I hit the coarse carpet. Finally, I rotated myself to where my legs were below me, and I pushed myself to stand.

Now more awake, I turned the fan off and closed the door with a satisfying *click*, and after nearly fifteen minutes of calibrating my mind to my body, I emerged fully dressed.

The next forty-five minutes were their usual blur. I'd assemble a bowl of cereal and milk while Dad would watch a talkshow hosted by some mean cowboy, and My sister would already be gone for the day due to being three years older than me.

With the completion of breakfast, I grabbed my bag which had been only hastily packed the previous night, and made my way out of the house, down the street, and to the bus stop in the brightening horizon.

My days after that proceeded as usual for the next few weeks. Spring had just started, and so everything became warmer, brighter, and almost happier. However, the trio of bullies continued as an overlooked scourge throughout the school. What's worse is that they seemed to become worse as the days passed.

Their methods would become more cruel and varied. They'd not just steal the items of others or mock them incessantly, but it seemed as if anything short of violence was fair game. How could they possibly avoid punishment or even authoritarian acknowledgement was only considerable through conjecture.

Two of the three were star athletes, and so their antics may have overlooked due to their integral nature in their respective teams. However, that seemed rather cliché. It was more likely that they merely covered their tracks well, and when confronted by ignorant adults, ever so kindly denied the very possibility of the event.

Walking through halls, I would see them not only take bags but open them up and snatch things. These would often be non-school integral things like sketchbooks and graph-paper, or colored pencils and crayons. However, their most valued prize was chewing gum. I never understood it, but chewing gum was a commodity almost fought over from grade school and almost up into the end of high school.

Still, they'd get away with it under the pretense of pretending, really well, to just be good kids.

For everytime I'd been personally caught by them, I could count several more times that I'd see them at a distance and have to avoid them like a scared rodent. Having to be that way or risk being hassled to the result of being both late and losing some important personal item felt like some kind of injust torture.

It was a rigor that anyone who was alone at any given time to face. It was like an environmental hazard with no visible way to fix it. As this went on, I became more and more upset with the situation, I could see the problem worsening, but had no way to stop it. If simply telling an adult wouldn't work, what would?

This lead me to think, maybe if I could figure out my quirk, I could use it to put an end to their injustice. I would knock them down like Endeavor, and maybe they'd stop being so mean to everyone. Yeah, that sounded good.

So, I went about trying to learn what my power was. I already knew that I'd been tested and didn't have the joint on my fourth toe which signified that I indeed had a quirk.

I then started to observe my family. My dad's quirk let him draw anything just by placing a writing tool on a medium such as paper or wood, and instantly mark it with whatever he was visualizing. Of course, it only went as far as the tool could be used for normally. So if he had a very short, well-used pencil, the drawing he visualized, unless preportionally small, would be incomplete.

My mother, meanwhile, could expell a colored aura based on her mood. If it was bright, light, and lustorous, you knew she was happy. Appropriately, if it was dark and dense, something was terribly wrong. Thankfully, this happened infrequently; but when she was really upset, her aura would push everything around her outwards. If this broke anything, or shifted something significantly out of place, it would only make her feel worse.

My sister and I learned quickly that it would be best to grab her a snack and leave her be until she cooled down. My sister could often be the same as well, but her quirk was far less potentially dangerous. Like Mom, she exerted an aura of energy, but unlike like Mom, it had no mass. Instead, she used it like Dad used his drawing ability, except with the far-less limited medium of her energy aura. She could make anythng she wanted appear. Although, the more complex and the longer she held it, the more it would tax on her body. If she wasn't careful, she'd collapse to the ground.

Thinking along those lines, I started using what freetime I had and devoted it to exerting myself and trying to force out my own energy. Standing out in the backyard, I tensed myself up and yelled as loudly as I could. However, after a few minutes of that, my father bursted out from the back door and yelled "What the hell are you doing?!"

Without breaking my concentration I yelled back "I'M TRYING TO MAKE MY QUIRK COME OUT!"

"WELL DO IT QUIETLY," My Dad rebuted. "WE ALL THOUGHT THAT YOU WERE IN SOME KIND OF SEARING PAIN!"

"FINE!," I shouted.

"DON'T FORGET YOUR HOMEWORK!"

"I WON'T."

Thus, I began to quietly exert myself trying to unleash the energy hidden within me. Everyday for a week I'd get home front school, let my Dad know that I was there, and drop off my backpack in the kitchen. With that, I'd head to the center of the backyard to take in the fresh air and begin to exert myself again. This would go on for what seemed like hours of pushing and groaning. I thought that if I dug deep like that, I could somehow unlock my quirk.

One day, while getting off the bus, I was considering my approach. Could I try to exert but in a single point, or should I try to draw something like Dad and my sister could? What if it's only my fee-

"OH HECK!" I cried as I, previously lost in thought, began falling forward off of the high bus steps. Not long after I'd shut my eyes and braced myself for the impact. I noticed that I hadn't quite hit the ground yet. I slowly opened my eyelids to view only appeared be nothing but translucent, vibrant crimson.

I laid there upon my bed of hardened energy for several moments before I heard a voice from above me: "How long are you going to lay there and keep my doors wedged open, kid?! Other people here want to go home!" Yelled the bitter bus driver.

This exclamation startled me and I lost my concentration. I fell to the ground in a puff of dust and asphalt debris. "Move it or lose your legs!" the driver continued.

I swiftly scrambled out of the way and onto my feet as the bus started forwards. It wasted no time in accelerating down the road and was soon out of sight.

Walking for the rest of the way home, I tried to recall that feeling; the feeling of catching myself from a fall. I focused with the precision of a laser. I focused everything I could with that feeling. Finally, it paid out.

It was exhausting. I could feel the muscles in my legs buckle under my body's weight, but it paid out. On my chest appeared a plate of that same crimson energy. It wasn't very big like it had been before. It looked like it might have been two by three inches and a quarter inch thick. Yes, it was small, but it was there. It was mine. I'd activated my quirk.


	3. C3 - Control

I started to feel oncoming fatigue as I held onto my new and wonderful power. The rectangular plate was slightly warm to the touch and imparted a minor tingling sensation, but I was so caught up in my excitement that I nearly lost my balance in the throes of the toll set upon me by the exertion.  
Before careening backwards to the hard ground, I quickly let go of the energy and regained my balance. This was likely not just due to the small amount of energy I'd just conjured, but also the larger version that I'd conjured at the bus stop in the moments prior. I stood still and rested for a time before continuing on the road toward home.

I returned as my mother pulled into the driveway. I stood in the garage at the entrance to the laundry-room door and I swayed gently as I regained my strength. My mother, now parked, cheerfully shouted at me from her window:  
"What's the matter, kid? Did you have a long day, today?"  
"Uh-huh.. and I figured out my quirk!" I said softly and happily.  
"You did?! That's wonderful! Can you show me?" she congratulated as she approached me.  
"Not now, too tired," I wearily uttered.  
"Fine, but that's worth a celebration. You'd better tell your father!"

The rest of the night was spent mainly as usual. Although, my mother baked a chocolate box cake and wrote on it in icing: "He's got a quirk!"  
Although I was still very tired, I was happier now than I'd been in a while. Plus, it was a Friday, and my homework wasn't due the next day. After dinner, due to my now nearly incapacitating fatigue, I went right to bed.

I didn't wake up up again until one PM the next day. As the long-risen sun blasted through my window, I felt its warmth grace my blanketed torso. I laid there for several minutes before truly realizing my consciousness, and with a rolling "Aaaggghhhh" forced myself from my soft entombment.  
With my legs still adjusting to the floor, I slowly stepped down the stairs and into the kitchen. I could hear from the basement that my mother was playing her music as she did her own homework. My father was probably in his office back upstairs, and my sister was nowhere to be found. Likely, she was out at a friend's house.  
Continuing in my stupor, I opened the fridge seeking an easy breakfast. I scanned up and down for a moment to soon notice the familiar metal tin from the night before. Although much of the cake was eaten, the word "Quirk!" was still fully visible, and the realization knocked on me like a fist on the loudest of doors.  
I had a quirk now. I had a quirk, and I could use it.

Not stopping to continue on the hunt for breakfast, I, in a newly awakened form, charged back up the stairs to get dressed. Shortly, I emerged with vehement energy and a singular intent: to activate my power again and make it into something that I could use.  
Returning to the backyard, I placed myself once again onto the spot which I'd been using for training my quirk over the past weeks. I firmly planted myself into the slots my feet had carved into the grass and began to focus again. I tried to remember the sensation I'd felt the previous day.

"Catch myself" I chanted quietly, and after several minutes of this, I soon felt yet another small pressing of energy generate near my chest. There it was again, a rectangular plate of crimson energy, hardened like the glass of a red traffic light. Not nearly as drained as I'd been, I was able to focus on actually examining it better.  
The plate of hardened energy was still slightly warm, and gave off that tingling sensation. My next thought was to knock on it. First, a light tap with a knuckle: *chink* it felt like something between metal and tile. I gave it a much harder knock: *clunk* it sounded as if I'd hit a bell without a clapper.  
Feeling daring, I picked up a small rock from a nearby pile. Planting my feet again, and lining up my shot like a major league pitcher, I reared my arm back and quickly thrust the round stone toward the plate. *CRACK* *SHIKASHIKASHIKA* In my hand, I felt the stone split into several small pieces and the plate shatter into now fading crimson shards.  
Small flecks flew upwards towards my eyes but I closed them in time and felt the tepid particles splash against their lids. The whole event reminded me of when I'd accidentally drop a ceramic dinner plate to see it explode into countless fragments. I opened my eyes to see that the stone in my hand was most certainly broken. In the shape of a five-pointed star, the stone was cracked and displaced. As I stood, I rolled the pieces in my hands and stared.

"I'm capable of this?" I thought, still stunned.

Raring to go, I set about creating another plate. However, this time I focused it in a different spot. Without too much trouble, I managed to generate a plate a tad lower, above my stomach. Grabbing another stone, I whacked at it again but focused a little more exertion into the plate. *KLACK* as the rock in my hand broke apart. Unlike before, however, the plate stayed mainly intact, albeit with a large crack in the surface.  
Once more, I rolled the broken stone fragments around in my hands. These were so much more broken up by the impact that I could hardly believe that I'd been the cause. Snapping away from my revelation, I tossed the pieces away back into the pile from whence it came and grabbed another to take its place.  
My new target in hand, I scanned the backyard for a good spot to place it. This stone was a tad larger than the others with a roughly flattened side. I recalled a small pallet of bricks left behind from when the house had been built- off to the side of the yard. Combing the area, I found it behind a cluster of overgrowth.

The area, perhaps ten feet across was home to some older relics of the semi-recent past. There was indeed the pallet of bricks, as well as an old, plastic tool shed, and a large stump placed on its side with black rings painted on the front. From what I'd understood, my sister used to use it for doll-attended tea parties. Afterward, my father had painted it, flipped it, and used it for target practice in throwing tomahawks.  
This was a hobby that my mother ensured wouldn't last. After my momentary reminiscence, I returned to finding a spot for my own target practice. Thinking with ingenuousness, I began rearranging bricks to create a rather simple table. Satisfied, I placed the rock from before squarely in the middle and acquired a balanced stance. As I lined my shot and reared my left arm back, I chanted those same words: "Catch myself, catch myself," and began to turn my shoulder, extend my upper arm, and straighten my elbow.  
With intensive force and distilled will, another plate emerged just before it struck the rock. Using my previous knowledge, I'd further reinforced the hardened energy with yet more exertion, and *CRACK* pounded the stone into the smallest of pebbles. Not only the stone, but the bricks below it were fractured and caved in. Grinning accompanied with unbridled joy, I jumped upwards and yelled for my success. However, while landing, I failed to notice my fatigue from both the excited training and lack of breakfast and thus landed flat on my back.  
"AGH Heck!" I exhaled with my improper landing. A few seconds of laying stunning upon the ground, I rolled to my feet and started back to the kitchen for a deserved meal, still basking in my successful improvement.

Approaching the back door, my father called out of the window above: "ARE YOU OKAY?"  
"Yeah, I'm just practicing my quirk!" I called back.  
"Congratulations, but keep it quiet!"  
"Don't worry, I'm taking a break now!" I replied as I walked into the kitchen.

Satisfied with my results, continued the day by having a late but well balanced lunch. It was grilled cheese made in a toaster oven and a medley of raw vegetables with ranch.  
Afterward, I returned to my training grounds and picked up a whole armful more of rocks to smash. For a few hours, I practiced making my plates of hardened energy on different parts of my body and breaking rocks with them.  
I kept going until I was so tired, and my arm was so sore, that I felt as if one more time would rip it out of its socket. Steadying myself, I set about to the family room to relax on the couch before dinner.  
This had been a fantastic day.


	4. C4 - Vigilante

The weekend passed. I'd trained for most of Sunday and continued to improve on myself and my quirk. It felt so natural, like I was truly meant to feel and understand it. I thought that I was ready to right the wrongs of Ronnie and his cohorts.

However, my pride blurred my vision, and I wasn't nearly so prepared as I'd assumed.

The school bus came with Monday and I jumped onto it with vehement glee. I trembled with excitement as I sat, anticipating the absolute defeat of the three tormentors. This singular thought circled around in my skull like a load of Sunday laundry.

However, my pride blurred my vision, and I wasn't nearly so prepared as I'd assumed.

The school bus came with Monday and I jumped onto it with vehement glee. I trembled with excitement as I sat, anticipating the absolute defeat of the three tormentors. This singular thought circled around in my skull like a load of Sunday laundry.

Soon, by the end of the week, maybe even the end of the day, I would knock them down from their platforms of menace and be revered as the hero of the school. Everyone would be proud and look up to me. I'd be surrounded by friends. I'd be like Endeavor!

At school, just after my disembarkation from the bus, I caught sight of one of the villains. It was Michael; His squared off jaw caused me to feel a tightness building in my chest. In that instant I wanted to rush towards him with my energy engaged and pummel him into the dust.

However, even I knew, that's not what heroes do. I caught myself and held back. I let the fist in my heart open up slightly as he'd already gone, totally unaware of what I'd planned to do.

The day progressed, and I became yet more distracted by the concept. My mind was a spring-loaded race car being pulled back over hard wood. With every passing minute the tightness in my chest grew. I was ready for action, and for lunch.

Just after one, everyone in our grade piled into the cafeteria. The huge room was floored mainly with speckled, white tiles and walled with those all-too-familiar white-painted cinder blocks. Lining a wall was the counters, coolers, and steam-tables from which the shriveled volunteers served what was called lunch.

On the far end was a set of long steps leading to what was called a stage; on the other was the entrance to the rest of the school and its maze of hallways.

I charged in and quickly acquired my meal. The morning had left me half-starved, and despite the limited quality, I tore through the "food" with little hesitation. Following the disposal of my Styrofoam tray, my next task was to sit and wait. I took a place on the outer fringe of the table grid.

Well away from almost everyone else, I watched with the vigilance of a hungry owl. My vision centered on the far corner of the cafeteria, at the corner opposite the entrance. If those three were going to do anything, that'd be the spot. It was well away from the gaze of the lunch volunteers, as well as the few teachers assigned to mind our shared meal.

However, these teachers had a penchant for shooting the breeze among themselves, and when not patrolling the rows and columns of hungry, chatty, children, would congregate near their own station by the stage. This distance was long enough that anyone, even a fully-grown adult, would have trouble seeing the whole way to the other side.

Thus, the bullies and other "misbehavors" would group on this other side, where they could practice their hijinks in relative peace.

My eyes darted throughout this zone as I sat, surrounded by people I could probably care less for. After minutes of scanning, I caught sight of them. All three of them were huddled together over a table to the other end of the row of tables. They weren't picking on anyone, but they were reveling in their misdeeds, surely.

Between them was another Styrofoam tray half-filled with no longer perfectly good chocolate milk. They were stirring in their own leftovers and marveling at this concoction. I'd seen this before, and it was always so disgusting and wasteful. How could something so vile be entertaining to these troglodytes? I thought that I was so much better than them.

Lunch ended, but my frustration only thickened through social studies. My heart coiled as a defensive snake in my desire for this wasted time to speed up and to bring recess to me. Surely that would be my moment.

Recess at my school felt like some kind of ecosystem. The playground was huge, and almost everyone out on it had somewhere that they enjoyed playing in and haunting in particular.

Exiting the school would lead you onto what we called the Blacktop. Many of the carnivores roamed here playing their basketball or 4-Square. Others would be in the huge field playing a dumbed down but wildly popular offshoot of dodge-ball called Kick and Catch. Sometimes it'd only be a few kids, but during other times it would be like a massive battle of multicolored rubber and foam streaking through the sky like mortars.

Aside from the name, I never really knew the objective of the game. It just seemed to be Kick and Catch.

In the middle of the playground were the jungle gyms, play-sets, swings and the like. This is were many of the social children would play. These herbivores would swing from bar to bar with amateur grace. They'd slide up and down, climb with ease, and chase each-other for no reason other than just to do it. Finally, at the far end laid the tennis courts and the gravel path leading up to them.

As dumb kids with no equipment, we weren't allowed onto the courts, but the path leading there was shaded by trees and was concave from decades of use. This path framed the huge field, and was most often inhabited by the more peaceful and frequently sedentary kids. Here they would quietly toss or arrange rocks, and in the spring, pick dandelions to make mono-hued bouquets. It was the closest place to what I could call a home during recess.

I'd spend those breaks from the rigor of sitting, staring, and listening to teachers that I didn't respect, under the shade and watching the big, puffy cumulus clouds migrate through the sky.

However, this was not my typical lot. I was a wanderer, never staying in one area for Too long. I would trace the black-top and watch the various games in play. Other times I'd find a vacant swing and put my best effort in to feel that near-freedom of the sky. Sometimes I'd brave the field and try to kick or catch some of the soft-ordinance being fired in either direction. And yes, sometimes I'd sit down under the shade in the far corner making tiny villages of stone.

Today, I had a goal in mind. Today, I kept my eyes on those three villains. Even now, looking back, I know that I'd become a tad obsessed. I stalked them like I was some greater predator. I wanted to catch them in the act, but even more than that, I wanted to pummel them. I wanted to be the big hero and crush them with the weight of everything that they'd done. I was manic, pissed-off, perhaps even a tad unhinged. I was resolute, and ready for action.

I watched them grab a basketball from the rack.I watched them find an open hoop. I watched them play their little game. My tension grew only further, and I glared at them from more than a dozen feet away.

Standing out in the open, and visibly seething, I continued to glare. I wanted to fight them, prove them wrong about me, and make them finally stop their terrible aggression. Soon, I'd get my wish.

Ronnie noticed me first. He called to the other two and soon noticed how I was standing. They noticed how aggressively I was looking at them. Michael was even momentarily surprised at my shift from the last time he'd seen me. I was challenging them, and they did not prefer it. Chuck tossed their basketball to land gently in the grass nearby, and they approached as they always had.

I wasn't carrying anything, so they had nothing to grab, but I knew they were still going to try me. Chuck took his spot behind me, Ronnie opposite him, and Michael to the side.

"So, are you here to fight us, Quirkless Loser?" Ronnie started.

"Quirkless Loser! Quirkless Loser!" Repeated Michael in Ronnie's voice.

They closed in tighter.

"I sure am!" I proclaimed.

Without any further hesitation, I released myself from my emotional adhesion and sprung into battle. Before any of the three could act, I captured that feeling and generated a plate of my hardened energy over my manically clenched fist. Even through my rage-catharsis, I could tell that this had been the hardest I'd made yet. I extended my arm and plunged the formation of my crimson fury into Chuck's gut.

With a look of previously unseen surprise, Chuck exhaled a desperate "ACK!" as he crumpled to the asphalt in a state of overwhelmed weakness. I'd knocked his wind out and he was down for the count.

Quickly, I jumped backwards to see the darkened fist of Ronnie launch towards me with the velocity of a July 4th rocket. However, he hadn't had a good look at my quirk, and I created a stone-sturdy half-mask around my jaw. When his hand connected, it immediately bounced back and he recoiled at the sensation. Returning my left arm to its starting position, I aimed and fired my own missile of a hit.

Still lamenting the pain in his fingers, Ronnie couldn't have seen my third plate ram his chest like a medieval siege engine. He, too crumpled like a sub-adequate sketch and fell to the waste-bin of the ground.

Third in line for my ire was Michael. He hadn't tried to defend himself. In fact, he was paralyzed with the shock of the situation. But, that didn't matter to me. I was out for more than bruises, and I reinforced the plate of my fist to an exaggerated hardness which I wouldn't have considered possible a day earlier.

I ducked down, I ran in close, and I shot my arm upwards to collide with his jaw. *CRACKK!* An audible break. Michael fell too, bouncing slightly on the impact with the playground. I'd done it, I'd won.

After glowing in the sun through my victory over those who'd caused me so much suffering, I reconnected with my surroundings. What followed surprised me. I heard nothing. No cheers of congratulations or relief were being uttered. No one was coming to high-five me. I surveyed the blacktop. They were all looking at me, students, teachers, maybe even the birds. I noticed their faces of concern and disdain. I noticed how they were looking at the three broken bodies surrounding me. My heart dropped like a broken icicle.

This had been a mistake.

~End of Prologue~


End file.
